I continue to be a giant barrel of fun wrapped up in a drooling, spontaneous nap. Perhaps I should try to enter a new line of work, such as mattress tester. (Not that I’d be all that good at it; turns out I can sleep just about anywhere.)
Now I have a new thing to keep me awake, though! Woooooo! Lucky me.
Have I ever mentioned (once or a hundred times) that I have terrible skin? More specifically, I have finicky, easily insulted skin, as befits a delicate flower such as myself. As a teenager I had the occasional pimple, no big deal, but my acne has continued to worsen in adulthood until it was joined by rosacea and wrinkles, and it’s a veritable PARTY OF HORRORS on my face these days. I’m used to it, and for the most part I’m able to keep things under control.
It’s all part of the joy of being a woman, right? I use the special face wash with the fancy facial scrubbing sonic brush doohickey, then I coat my face in special serum made from the tears of unicorns, then I apply a moisturizer that both hydrates AND controls oil (magic!), and finally I apply spot treatment to any active zits and Holy Hell You Look Tired And Old undereye-de-bagging cream to the circles under my eyes. As one does. And then if I’m feeling really fancy (and haven’t fallen asleep yet…), I put on makeup.
This routine isn’t foolproof—for example, I am fooling no one about the bags under my eyes, and yes, I still have pimples—but it’s workable. I’m able to get through life this way without feeling like a hideous monster. Every now and then things get worse for some reason (say, I eat wheat and have an eczema outbreak, or I decide that it’s perfectly fine to eat a whole lot of sugar), but for the most part, it’s good. And when something goes wrong, usually I can trace the cause to something I ate or a new product or whatever.
Well. EVERY NOW AND THEN, just for funsies, something awful happens for no reason whatsoever. Like, say, I’m sitting at home on a Saturday, watching television because my whole family is off in various other locations, and I take a break from my very busy schedule to go pee, and I look in the mirror and realize that my chin is twice its normal size.
This is not a zit. I mean, technically I suppose it is. At least, it’s something zit-like, taking over the left half of my chin. But I’m talking about a GROWTH. I’m talking about something so large that I now appear to have a dimple in my chin (I do not have a chin dimple) where the edge of this monstrosity slopes down to the normal half of my face. Half a golf ball sprouted there, out of nowhere. And once I realized it was there I also realized that it HURT.
I commenced slathering the growth with zit cream and antibiotic ointment fifty-seven times a day. Still, it continued to grow throughout the weekend—by Sunday morning my neck hurt because this business on my chin actually required new sleeping positions!—and by yesterday afternoon I faced the dilemma of “go out for groceries and risk scaring small children” vs. “stay home and hideous but hungry.” Yea, verily, because I am brave (and also because we were out of milk), I eventually used half a tube of concealer and headed out to shop as quickly as possible.
I am forty-freaking-two-years-old. Cystic acne, at my age? REALLY?
It’s amazing how a single skin event can turn me right back into an awkward teenager, too. I can’t stop touching my face, even though I know that touching my face is likely making it worse. I have an official sort of meeting at school tomorrow and all I can think is WHAT IF I STILL HAVE THIS GIANT THING ON MY FACE OH MY GOD! How can I expect people to take me seriously when Rudolph’s famed red nose has somehow sprouted out of my chin? How will anyone believe I’m capable of knowing what’s best for my child when I appear incapable of cleansing my own face??
Maybe I can just wear a turtleneck and do a Mort-from-Bazooka-Joe move. (If you don’t know what that is, get off my lawn.) I’m sure that wouldn’t be weird at all.